


You show me

by kate_the_reader



Series: The season [25]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 31 Days of Ineffables Advent Calendar Challenge 2019 (Good Omens), M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:22:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21962047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kate_the_reader/pseuds/kate_the_reader
Summary: Aziraphale reads Crowley's card, and shows Crowley that he sees all the ways Crowley shows his love.This follows straight on from the previous story, Truest star.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: The season [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564690
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	You show me

Aziraphale finds the card Crowley made him when he goes upstairs to fetch his thick cardigan. He sits down on the bed before he opens and reads it, pausing to run his fingers over the star drawn on the front. “Oh, my dear love,” he says aloud, opening the paper.

His breath catches in his throat as he reads what Crowley has written. “You do,” he says. “You do, my darling, you show me every day.” 

Tears are wet on his cheeks as he stands up and goes to find Crowley, the precious folded paper in one hand, the other scrubbing saltwater out of his eyes. 

Crowley is standing in his conservatory looking out at his garden. 

He is so beautiful. His hair, which he keeps long because Aziraphale likes it, sweeping past his shoulders; his slender black-clad form like an exclamation point.

But Aziraphale does not want merely to look at Crowley.

He stops in the doorway. “Crowley?” he says, hIs voice still caught on the lump in his throat. “My darling.”

Crowley had whirled to him as soon as he spoke, and now he has come to Aziraphale and reached for him, holding him close, so close, close enough to hear Aziraphale say, in a voice barely above a whisper: “My love, my love.”

He presses his face to Crowley’s shoulder, his tears, flowing again, soaking his jumper. Crowley’s hand cradles his head tenderly and holds him — secure, safe, sure — for a long, long time. 

Aziraphale’s tears, of the deep joy of being seen, and known, the joy of being loved by the one you have also loved for so long, slow and grow cold against his face and on Crowley’s skin. 

When Aziraphale lifts his head at last, Crowley takes his face in his hands, thumbs brushing the moisture from his cheeks, a prickle of subtle magic cooling his hot eyes.

“Aziraphale,” he says, his voice soft, “Angel.” 

Aziraphale waves the folded paper weakly. “You do,” he says, “Every day. You are my home.”

Day has turned to evening and above the conservatory’s glass roof, the stars shine in a clear winter sky. 

“Come upstairs with me?” Aziraphale asks, holding out his hand.

“Of course.”

They climb the stairs hand-in-hand, Crowley behind Aziraphale on the narrow flight. On the landing, Aziraphale turns towards the bedroom they don’t use very often, the one containing the huge carved bed from Crowley’s old flat. In answer to Crowley’s frown of puzzled inquiry, he says: “Where you first showed me … No, that’s not it. You showed me so many times, always, even when I didn’t understand what you were giving me. But this bed is where you showed me how … showed me one way to …” He doesn’t know why he feels so flustered and inarticulate.

Crowley turns Aziraphale towards himself, touches his face with gentle fingers, and kisses him with infinite tenderness, telling him without words: “I know, I know.”

This is one of the ways Crowley tells him: by hearing what he finds difficult to say. He takes a step back, inviting Crowley to follow, and another, until the bed is against the back of his legs. He sits down, his arms around Crowley’s waist, Crowley’s hands on his head — a blessing. They make their own grace, together.

He tips his head back then, to look into Crowley’s beloved golden eyes, which he is privileged to look into, eyes which look on him always with love and understanding. 

He slips his hands up under Crowley’s jumper, under his t-shirt. “May I, darling?” Crowley nods, and Aziraphale skims his fingers gently over the secret place at the small of his back. “This is one of the ways you show me, by trusting this to me, by believing what I tell you about this.”

Crowley is biting his lip. He draws a sharp breath. “That’s a way  _ you _ show  _ me _ ,” he says. “I do believe you. Thank you for giving that to me.” His shoulders relax the tiny bit of tension he has been carrying and he smiles down at Aziraphale, touching his mouth softly. 

Aziraphale takes hold of Crowley’s hands, turning the left over and pressing his lips to the palm. “You show me with your hands, your strong capable hands. Your hands that made this home for us, that create so much beauty in your garden. That touch me so gently. That gave me something I had never been given, that I had yearned for. That taught me how to touch, when I hardly knew.” He kisses the right palm, pushes the cuff of Crowley’s jumper up, and kisses the soft skin of his wrist, the strong tendons beneath it. 

Crowley’s breath catches in his throat and he sways towards Aziraphale. And then he kneels, looking up at him, his hands on Aziraphale’s thighs, fingers digging in. “This is another way you show me,” he says. “You give me such comfort with your body, the resting place I craved always.” 

He lays his head in Aziraphale’s lap, and now it is his turn to receive a benediction.

“You showed me,” says Aziraphale, “with your patience.You kept loving me for so long. So long.”

“How could I have stopped?” Crowley’s voice is muffled. “I cannot stop.”

“Oh, my darling. Nor I. Forever.” 

He pushes his hands into Crowley’s hair. “Come up here with me now?”

“Yes,” Crowley says, “But first …” He plucks at Aziraphale’s shoelaces, “Just let me do this.” He takes off his shoes, and wraps his hands round his ankles. “Do you want …?” he asks.

“Not yet.” Crowley looks up at him. “Is that … do you mind, my dearest love?”

“Never,” says Crowley, giving Aziraphale’s foot, sheathed in a bright blue sock, a fond pat and standing up.

Aziraphale swings his legs onto the bed and shifts over, giving Crowley room. Crowley follows him, and comes to lie with his head on Aziraphale’s chest, slipping his fingers between the buttons of his shirt, little points of contact with his skin. 

“You never stop showing me,” Aziraphale whispers into his hair. He tightens his arms around Crowley. “I love you across the universe, my darling. Among all your stars.” 

He can feel his grip on consciousness slipping. “You gave me this too,” he murmurs, eyes sliding closed as the exhaustion of emotion pulls him under. “Everything. You give me ever’ …”

  
_ Prompt: love _


End file.
